


Doing What's Needed

by Rosalindfan



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Canon Compliant, Family, Post-Canon, VE Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosalindfan/pseuds/Rosalindfan
Summary: VE Day 1966 and Paul Milner's daughter's 21st birthday.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Foyle’s War and its characters created by Anthony Horowitz. No infringement intended, no profit made.  
> Originally written in response to a challenge to write a story with some connection to the episode ‘All Clear’ and posted elsewhere. middlemarch's lovely work 'Because that you are going' mentions Paul's family and reminded me of this light-hearted piece.

**Friday 6th May 1966**

 

_‘You don’t have to say you love me, just be close at hand…’_ The voice of Dusty Springfield poured out of the bedroom and down the stairs of the Brighton suburban house.

“Turn that racket down,” shouted Paul Milner from the hallway. “Clemmie, do you hear me?”

“Obviously not with that volume,” Edith said calmly. “Leave her, Paul. It’s not hurting anyone.”

His wife carried shopping bags from the car, ignoring the disgruntled expression on her husband’s face.

“Why does everything have to be so loud?” he asked on her second trip past him to the kitchen. “How much stuff have you bought, Edie, for heaven’s sake?”

“Paul, it’s her 21st birthday - there’ll be dozens of guests. We don’t want to run out of food. Or drink. You _have_ remembered that you’re in charge of that, haven’t you?”

The music ceased suddenly and a tall, dark girl with a slim figure ran down the stairs. Pushing past her father, Clemmie dashed into the living room and twirled, her long straight hair swinging.

“What do you think, Mum?” she asked.

Paul looked at his eldest daughter. Almost as tall as him, with Edie’s dark hair and elfin features, she was beautiful. Too beautiful, in his opinion, if the string of spotty young men that were always knocking on the door was anything to go by. He worried about her all the time, and had done since she was born. Now, in a mini-dress so short he doubted she could bend down decently, he worried even more.

“You look lovely,” Edith replied coming through from the new fitted kitchen that was her pride and joy.

“You’re not thinking of wearing that to your party, are you?” Paul asked the preening girl. “It’s, well, it’s indecently short. Why don’t you wear that blue dress you had at Christmas?”

“Daaad!” She glared at him. “It’s all the fashion. Twiggy was wearing one just like this in last week’s ‘Jackie’.”

Twiggy? Jackie? He had no idea who she was talking about. Edie and Clemmie were fussing with a bit of black braiding on the white dress as Paul sighed and went to put away the shopping. He’d taken a day’s leave in order to help finalise the party arrangements - arrangements that he’d had little to do with. His wife and eldest daughter seemed to have everything in hand. They’d booked the community hall, decided the menu and the guest list, ordered the invitations and the DJ. He’d been put in charge of the drinks. Taking the easy option he’d arranged a local pub to provide a private bar. The drinks would be a little more expensive but he’d put a good amount in the pot to cover the first round. Besides, he reasoned, it was less likely that any of Clemmie’s dozens of friends would get plastered and throw up. After all, it was their responsibility, Edie informed him, to clean up after the do and he didn’t fancy having to sluice out the Gents.

The back door burst open as his younger daughters came home from school, bickering as usual - Patricia, 17 years old and doing her A-levels, 14 year-old Janice and 11 year-old Christine, all at the local grammar school and all a mystery to him.

“Dad, I need £2 for the trip next week!”

“Miss says we have to have a tennis racquet next year, Dad. Can we get one next week?”

“Dad, Pat won’t let me borrow her blazer and it doesn’t even fit her anymore.”

Paul held up his hands in surrender. “Talk to your Mum, all of you,” he said firmly and escaped to the peace of the garden. No doubt there’d be more dress parading this evening as they all decided what to wear tomorrow night. He’d better make sure he had a bath tonight; there’d be no spare hot water tomorrow, that was for sure.

 

He sat on the garden bench for a while before hunger sent him inside wondering what Edie had made for dinner. Strangely there was no-one in the kitchen and the house was suspiciously quiet. He walked through the ground floor without encountering anyone. At the bottom of the stairs he stopped and listened carefully. The muted sound of voices came from above him. What on earth was going on? Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour he made himself a cheese sandwich and ate it in front of the TV.

‘Z Cars’ had started by the time Edie came downstairs alone. She sat next to him on the sofa and took his hand.

“What’s going on up there?” he asked her.

“Disaster. There was a phone call. Kevin’s dumped Clemmie. How could he, Paul? The day before her birthday as well.”

“Kevin’s the one with the long fair hair, yes?” he ventured. “Velvet collars and flared trousers?”

“DCI Milner, you’re useless. That was Gary. Kevin’s the dark-haired one with the motor-bike.”

“Oh, good, didn’t like him. Or his motorbike.”

“But Clemmie did, a lot, and now she’s saying she doesn’t want the party,” Edie told him. “Will you go and talk to her, Paul?”

“Me?” he practically yelped. “What am I supposed to say?”

“You’ll think of something, love.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “She’s your little girl, remember?”

He stood and made his way to the door.

“Send the others down, will you?” she said, “I’ll get them something to eat.”

 

Paul nodded and went upstairs. Younger ones dispatched, he tapped on Clemmie’s door. There was no music playing, that fact itself making his heart sink. Clemmie must be really upset not to have her records on. He opened the door, to find her lying face down on the bed. Ignoring the life-sized posters of The Beatles watching him from the wall, he sat down next to her.

“I’m sorry, Clemmie,” he said, stroking her arm. “I know you liked this lad, Kevin.”

She turned and looked at him, mascara making black streaks down her face.

“He told me loved me, Dad,” she hiccupped. “I thought he was going to ask me to marry him. I thought he’d propose at the party.”

His daughter sat up and buried her face in his chest.

“Oh, Dad, I’ve been so stupid.”

His blood froze. What was she saying? Love, marriage, stupid? His mind was working overtime.

“Stupid, you?” he said as casually as he could. “You’re not stupid, Clemmie. What makes you say that?”

He held his breath.

“I believed him,” she sobbed, “and I told all the girls from work we were going to get engaged.”

He sighed. “Is that all?” he asked.

“All?” Clemmie wailed. “They’ll all laugh at me tomorrow, Dad. I don’t want to go. Please, let me stay at home. Have the party without me.”

Paul sat and hugged his daughter. What could he say? He sympathised, but it wasn’t the end of the world, and they had spent a fortune on this party. She’d never be 21 again either; it was a milestone, she’d be an adult. And part of being an adult was doing things you didn’t want to, for the sake of others. How could he get this across to her without sounding trite? Edie was right – despite her birthday she was still his little girl, his precious baby.

“Have I ever told you about the day you were born?”

Clemmie shook her head, her eyes still red-rimmed.

“I worked in Hastings then, as a Detective Sergeant. Everything was changing – the war was ending, my DCS, Mr Foyle, was retiring, the old police station was being packed up for a move to new buildings and I’d applied for a promotion here.”

He could almost smell the dust of the office where he’d worked in Hastings, the musty odour of the kitchen where Sam was always on the prowl for biscuits. It had been one of the best times of his life working as part of that team, knowing he was respected and valued, despite his own perceived shortcomings.

“Most of the staff had gone to check out the new building, there was only Mr Foyle, one constable and me there when your Mum came dashing in waving a letter – my promotion. I was so pleased. With you on the way we needed the extra money. Anyway, she’d come at such a pace with that letter that she went into labour, right there in the police station.”

He remembered the mixture of excitement and fear he’d felt that day. A new baby; he knew nothing about babies other than he wanted to be a father. He hugged Clemmie and hoped she’d thought him a good father. She was sitting up properly now, caught up in his story.

“Mr Foyle tried to phone the hospital, but he couldn’t get through - phones were so unreliable in those days. He sent the constable to call one of the others back to drive us, but they’d gone.”

“Why didn’t you drive her, Dad?” Clemmie asked.

“I couldn’t drive, not in those days,” he explained rubbing his leg. “The leg I had then wasn’t as good as this one.”

He looked at his daughter and smiled. “Now, Mr Foyle had a driver – Samantha, her name was – because he didn’t drive. She was off somewhere. But when it became obvious that your mum needed to get to the hospital he took the car key from the hook and he drove us to St Mary’s.”

“And?” Clemmie frowned.

“The point is, love, Mr Foyle didn’t drive. He could, but he didn’t. I never knew the details but I do know that for some reason he didn’t want to drive. It must have been something really important to him. He was a very, um, principled man, Mr Foyle, and he’d never have taken a driver from another task if he didn’t feel it absolutely necessary.”

He grinned at the memory; his boss, folding that long overcoat he always wore into the driver’s seat and taking them full pelt to the hospital, Edie puffing and blowing through her contractions in the back seat.

“But he did it, Mr Foyle. He drove, because you were on the way, literally, and we needed to get to the hospital. We all owe him a debt of gratitude for that. If we’d have had to wait any longer we wouldn’t have got to the hospital in time. And the actual birth wasn’t easy – it could have been disastrous for you and your mum.”

His eyes blurred as he realised exactly what may have happened had his boss  not done what he did.

“He was the best boss I ever had and I respected him enormously. And if he could do something he really didn’t want to do – just for you, well…”

“I know where you’re going, Dad. If he could then I should too, yes? Do what I don’t want to do – go to the party?” She smiled at him. “For Mum who’s worked so hard on it, and for you.”

The tears did spill from his eyes then as he hugged his daughter tight.

“Can you do it, Clemmie? Can you face it? For your mum and me?”

She flashed him a cheeky grin. “I suppose so. As long as I can wear my new dress.”

 

**Saturday 7th May**

 

His daughters had done a grand job on the community hall, decorating it with bunting and keys and a large ‘Happy 21st Birthday’ banner over the stage where the DJ had set up his gear. They’d even put up some Union Jacks as a nod to VE Day, he saw with a smile. Edie and a couple of friends had put on a marvellous spread and she’d forgiven him for his laziness when she saw the well-stocked bar. The youngsters took the tables in the main hall, while his and Edie’s friends and family sat in the ante-room where they could talk without making themselves hoarse. Paul kept an eye on the door. Edie hadn’t noticed that she was one invitation short; the one he’d taken, written and sent. The response had been uncertain - Brighton was quite a jaunt for someone in his late seventies and there were some health concerns, but Paul was still hopeful. But now here he was - older than Paul remembered, obviously, but easily recognisable. He still had a little hair at the back, and he walked with a stick, but his eyes were as shrewd and intelligent as ever. Paul stood and nudged Edie.

“Mr Foyle,” he said, striding across the room and shaking his hand firmly, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Privilege to be asked. Been a long time, Milner.”

“Let me get you a drink,” Paul said, as Edie took the overcoat, “Scotch?”

Foyle’s blue eyes twinkled as he nodded curtly.

Paul ordered the drink and went in search of Clemmie, who, in spite of herself, looked to be having a wonderful time.

“Someone I want you to meet,” he told her, dragging her off the dance floor. He returned to the table with both drink and daughter.

“Mr Foyle,” he said proudly, “may I introduce my daughter, Clementine.”

Foyle stood. “A pleasure, young lady.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I remember the day you were born.”

Paul would never forget the look on Edie’s face as Clemmie, ignoring the hand, pulled his former boss into a brief hug, startling him so much that he sat down rather more quickly than he’d intended.

“Thank you, Mr Foyle, thank you so much,” she said before being pulled away by a lad who looked remarkably like Gary. Or was it Steve?

“Rright,” said Foyle, regaining his composure, “and I haven’t even given her her present yet.”

Paul laughed. “I’ve been telling her about that day, sir,” he said, “thinking about the old times, end of the war, VE Day. What a time that was.”

“It was,” Foyle agreed. “D’you remember Jane in the paper that day?”

“I do, sir! Not a stitch on, as I recall. Brooke thought you’d be shocked but you turned the tables on him. Whatever made you think of that, sir?”

“Your daughter, Milner.” Foyle’s face gave nothing away. ”She looks very umm…”

He took a sip of his scotch. “Legs better than Jane’s.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ‘All Clear’ covers many scenarios – the Slapton Sands cover-up, the army blanket garment made by Sam, profiteering (the flag seller) and Sam’s brush with advertising. None really appealed – too serious, too clichéd. The birth of Milner’s baby seemed a good hook to hang the story on, but again, there wasn’t much to go on until I thought about that baby growing up. A teenager, perhaps? When it dawned on me that she’d be 21 in 1966 I started getting excited – I remember life in 1966!  
> I have my scene setting - busy house, loud, preparations for a party, Milner, always a bit of a bystander, looking confused. Why? More girls, of course, fashions he can’t comprehend, references he doesn’t understand. Edith, of course, has followed the trends and isn’t so shocked; she takes it in her stride. I like to root my work in the realities of the time frame so Paul worries about having a bath. Amazing as this may seem to those of you across the pond but even as late as the sixties few households had a shower and the ‘weekly bath night’ remained a tradition. Central heating was unknown to many and heating water was a lengthy process.  
> For those not as old as Methuselah…  
> ‘Z Cars’ was a police series in which a very young Michael Kitchen once had a role, Twiggy (Lesley Hornby) was a young model, and ‘Jackie’ a popular teenage girls’ magazine.


End file.
